The Four Paths of Raphael
by Jessie Rose 911
Summary: 4 unrelated oneshots, all with a different OC, paired romantically with Raph! Vote on which oneshot is your favorite, and I will turn it into a multi-chapter. Please review! I think they're pretty good, myself.
1. Rosa

**Important!- This is a series of unrelated oneshots. Each has a different OC paired romantically with our favorite turtle in red. Please review and tell me which one you like the best. The oneshot with the most votes will be turned into a multi-chapter story. Enjoy!**

**Rosa**

Raphael stared at the young woman as he crouched across the alley from her, still as a statue. She was equally still, dark eyes boring into his own gold ones. She crouched in much the same position, but instead of sais, she clutched a good sized bundle to her chest.

She had seen him, but she hadn't screamed. Gasped, yes; that's what alerted him to her presence. But she didn't scream. She didn't seem terrified either. She was very wary of him, but she didn't seem scared out of her mind.

He had once again left the lair in a huff. He didn't even remember exactly what they were fighting about, only that it had started with Mikey annoying him and ended with raised voices and insults between him and Leo. He had come upon a drug deal, and had decided to take out his frustrations on the criminals. Jumping from the fire escape he had observed the unfortunates from, he had sent them scattering.

As they ran, Raphael stood tall, stepping out of the shadows, thinking he was safe. Her gasp had told him otherwise. So now they crouched, eyes locked, waiting for the next move.

Slowly, she crept forward out of the semi-darkness. With a start, he realized the bundle she held was actually a small child, an African-American girl of about three years. The woman barely looked old enough to be the babe's mother, only about eighteen. Not unheard of in the least, but still looked down on. Especially when the child of a white woman ended up black.

Had she been kicked out of her home? Scorned because of her child? Their skin colors? Prejudice like this make him absolutely sick!

She crept foreword a little more. Raph let her. She had already seen him, so he was curious as to what she'd do next. "Thank you." Her voice was quiet, hoarse. He blinked. She had _thanked_ him. Finally! Someone thanked him for what he and his brothers did!

He cleared his throat roughly before saying, "Eh, welcome." He didn't know how to handle the attention honestly. Then a question entered his mind. Even he hadn't seen her at first, and the druggies he had just sent running certainly hadn't, so what was she thanking him for? "They were botherin' you?" he asked.

"Not yet." Ah. So she was scared of being discovered by them. Made sense.

A little snuffing sound cut into their minimal conversation. The little child that was clutched to her chest had woken. Big jade green eyes blinked at Raphael, before she inquired with a sleepy voice, "Tuttle?" The side of Raph's mouth twitched. He had a bit of a soft spot for kids, but if anyone, especially Mikey, ever found out he'd deny it.

"_Turtle_, Little Lady, but…" he glanced at the woman's curious face. He sighed. "Yeah…" A thoughtful expression crossed the woman's face before she let go of the child with one hand and held it out for Raph to shake.

"I'm Rosa Lone-Wolf. This is my daughter, Rayne."

Slowly he reached out, wondering if she'd flinch away from his three-fingered hand. She didn't. "Raphael Hamato." He glanced at little Rayne, and frowned slightly. There was a yellow crust at the corners of her eyes, and her nose ran even though it had obviously been wiped raw. She reminded him of a sick kitten. Rosa didn't look all that great herself. Her eyes were sunken and had dark rings, and she was unbelievably pale and thin. They needed help. "Eh, listen, you need a place to stay awhile?"

She drew back a little. "Why?" she almost growled. He put his hands up in a placating manner. Suddenly times when his brothers had done the same towards him flashed through his mind, and he put them down. Sometimes it only made people, namely him, even angrier. "My brother's a bit of a doctor, least he's patched me and the rest of us up enough times he knows what he's doing. An' Rayne don't look so hot…" She kept her eyes narrowed at him. He took it as good sign that she hadn't run yet.

One dark little hand waved towards him. "Hai, Waff!" Rayne may have been sick, but she was a smart little one, and had picked up on Raph's name, even if she couldn't pronounce it. He tried not to smile, he really did, but she was just so damn _cute._ But if Mikey ever heard, and undoubtedly would if Rosa agreed, he'd never hear the end of it.

"Lo, Rayne," he said as very slowly, aware of the proverbial mother bear watching his every move, he reached out and let Rayne grab his fore finger. She was such a tiny little thing, her fist dwarfed almost frighteningly by his large shockingly green hand. She giggled, then coughed and gave a little whimper. Raph felt his gut clench, and decided to leave the reason why alone for a while. "Let me help ya," he said quietly, looking Rosa in the eye.

She cradled her child closer as she thought. Finally, she murmured, "Lead the way."

"Keep her close. The way there is kinda grimy, and she don' need ta get sicker," he advised her. He led her a block away to suitably large entrance to the sewers. She wrinkled her nose, but followed. She had trouble getting down the ladder with Rayne, so Raph gently hooked an arm around her waist and leapt down, hitting the ground with barely a thump. She looked startled, but didn't shy away when he kept a hand on her back to guide her down the tunnel.

Every once in a while, he'd say something, like to watch out for a rock or debris, but usually they kept silent. Rayne had fallen asleep after the exciting and "Funfunfun!" jump down the ladder. When they were a few minutes away, Raph spoke up.

"I better warn ya 'fore we get there. I live with my three bros and our sensei. My oldest bro, Leo, might not be all that happy ta see ya. Don will be happy ta help ya out, he's the doctor-type I told ya 'bout. Mickey's the baby of the family, an' he acts it."

"Are they… like you?" she asked shyly.

"Yeah. Well, by bros are, but sensei is different. He ain't human, but he sure ain't no turtle. He's a mutated rat." He saw her skeptical and worried expression. "A very clean and honorable rat," he amended. She smirked and nodded.

They arrived then, and he punched in the sequence on the pad that Don had installed recently. The door hissed open. "Hey, Don! Lil' help, here!" he shouted as he gently led Rosa and Rayne in.


	2. Cayote

**Cayote**

She had lived in this forest for quite some time now, but she had never seen anything like him. His skin was the color of emeralds, and it contrasted greatly with his parchment-colored plastron. The edge closest to her was all she could see of his shell, but that much was a dark chocolate brown. A red bandana mask wrapped around his head, leaving two holes for his eyes, which were closed. A brown belt was around his middle, and held two holsters – for what she wasn't sure; knives perhaps.

He was a sort of mutant, this much she knew. Turtles don't grow to be well over five feet tall. Plus, he looked almost human. His hips were arranged like that of a bipedal animal, and the rest of his bone structure was humanoid as well: wide, football-player shoulders; tree-trunk-thick arms and legs meant to bend in a human manner; his plastron only accentuated his sculpted chest. Only two toes were on his leathery feet, but they were strong enough looking. Two fingers and a thumb adorned each hand, long and strong and calloused. His head, obviously terrapin in origin, held a strangely human face; thin green lips, wide mouth, almond shaped eyes, bump-like beak for a nose, and no outside ears.

He was magnificent, awe-inspiring, dare she say beautiful. It was a sin that such a creature should be allowed to die.

The creature wasn't breathing, and there were several severe lacerations on his arms, shoulders, and neck. An ankle looked broken. His eyes didn't so much as twitch behind his eyelids. She was almost completely sure the miracle was dead, but she still approached cautiously. Turtles were prey-animals, but this one looked more predator than prey.

She crouched at his side and gazed mournfully at his injuries. Her small hand gently touched his plastron. It was more pliable than she thought it'd be, but leathery. Then, she felt a soft _thump._ She galvanized into action, scrambling away, but wasn't fast enough. A huge green hand clutched her wrist, dwarfing her fragile looking limb.

"What the hell, woman?" he growled, voice hoarse and raspy.

She looked up and gasped. She had focused on getting away, but now she was lost in glittering gold eyes. Vaguely, she heard him gasp too.

(POV Change)

He hurt. Everywhere. His ankle, shoulders, and neck hurt the most. Light filtered through his eyelids, and he suppressed a moan. A rustle sounded to his left and he stilled. A presence crept closer. Dead foliage made tiny, almost unnoticeable sounds. It took every ounce of his ninja training to stay absolutely still. It paused about five feet from away, and he could feel a pair of eyes studying him. After a moment it approached even closer, stopping right beside him. Ever-so-gently, a small hand settled on his plastron, over his heart. His heart thumped harder than it had been. The presence exploded into movement.

Raphael exploded too. Or tried to.

With a low growl, he snatched at the hand on his chest. Pain exploded all down his arm, in his chest, shoulders, and especially his neck. Breath hissed out from between his clenched teeth, and he unconsciously clung to the frail wrist struggling to get out of his grasp.

Opening his eyes, he found a young, blond-haired woman still straining against his grip. "What the hell, woman?" he rasped. God, he sounded weak. She froze and her eyes snapped to his, and he couldn't stop his gasp. _Her eyes changed colors._ They were at least three different colors at any one time, swirling and darting around her irises in no particular pattern. The colors ranged from bright rainbow and neon to dull earth tones, and he couldn't help but feel hypnotized.

"Goddess, you're alive…" Her voice sounded like rustling leaves. Her startlingly tiny hand settled back on his plastron, her expression one of awe.

Another pulse of pain shot through his system, and he let his head thunk back to the forest floor with another quiet growl. He never let go of her wrist.

"Oh, dear… I need my hand, hon. I ain't gonna hurt ya."


	3. Tawny

**Tawny**

Raph stared intently at Tawny's hair, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. He idly thought that this was what Don must feel when he's _wants to know._ This intense curiosity was somewhat new to Raph. Sure, he had experienced it as a child, but now he didn't allow himself to show anything but his rough exterior.

Suddenly, Tawny looked over at him. T.V. could never hold her attention for long. She smiled, confused, and said, "You're staring at me. Very intensely."

Raph wondered if it was possible for him to turn as read as his mask with his green skin. If it was, he sure was doing so now. "I jus'… never mind."

"No, seriously, is there something wrong?" The thing about Tawny was that she was a good friend. Probably Raph's best friend. Casey was great and all, but all they did together was bust heads. He could talk to Tawny, and when she was in the mood, she could bust heads too. They shared a morbid and sarcastic sense of humor, and had a similar "not black and white, but grey" outlook on life. Fiercely protective of both friends and family, Tawny was someone he respected.

But what made her different from Raph was what made her such a great friend. She was a good listener, and, when asked, could give great advice. She was calm, and only when incensed to rage did she yell or raise her voice at all. She was strong, but in a silent sort of way that Master Splinter shared, and Leo had yet to master.

"I … This is gonna sound stupid," he told her, embarrassed beyond belief.

"I'd never judge you, Raph," she told him gently, concerned now. That's another thing that made her a great person. She had told him herself that her motto was "Don't Judge, Don't Hate".

"Um… would it be weird if I… Can I touch your hair?" He said the last phrase in a rush and a little too loud, blushing harder if possible.

Tawny burst out laughing. Raph felt awful. Mortified, he made to rise but was stopped by Tawny placing a hand on his arm. "Oh, Raph!" she chuckled some more. "I'm not laughing at you, swear! It's just that most people don't even ask! I don't mind if people play with my hair at all, I'm used to it."

He felt a little better. Of course he wouldn't be the first to play with her hair. It was down to the small of her back, wildly curly, and a rich tawny color- hence her nickname. When she walked by, one could smell her fresh, non-flowery shampoo. He just was so curious what it _felt_ like.

Gunfire sounded on the television and they both turned their attention to the crime show on the screen. After the immediate danger had passed for their favorite T.V. characters, Raph turned and regarded his friend. Hesitantly, he reached out and snatched a lock off her shoulder, careful not to pull to hard. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch in an indulgent smile.

Gently he rubbed the dark golden lock between his thumb and forefinger. It was soft! He flicked it and it jumped back to her shoulder but kept its general curly shape. Cocking his head to the side curiously, he tugged gently at the lock. Once taunt, he let go. It sprung back into place, and he smirked amusedly. He did it again just for kicks. Carefully, he petted the back of her head, like you might a cat. Gently, he curled his fingers to drag them through her hair. She made a little humming sound in the back of her throat and he stopped.

"Hey! That felt good!" He chuckled. She was acting like a cat, leaning into his hand and making that little humming noise. He complied and kept stroking her hair. He didn't mind at all.


	4. Delilah

**This is the last one! Please leave a review and tell me which one you like the best!**

**Delilah**

The Nightwatcher watched as the strangely well-dressed men swung crow bars and bats in threatening manners. He followed them via rooftop, leaving his motorbike hidden behind a dumpster two blocks away. He smelled trouble of the corrupted kind.

They led him to an Occult shop that was just being locked up for the night by a petite woman with long blonde hair and a long flowing skirt. The trouble makers hid in the ally next to the shop, and Raph saw one pull out an overly-gilded bible. So that what this was about. Those hypocritical bastards! Just as the leader with the bible threw the unsuspecting blonde up against the ally wall, Nightwatcher leapt into action.

There was much howling and cursing as Raph fended off the fanatical "christians". The woman just stood out of the way, once in a while bopping one in the head with her oversized satchel purse if they got too close. As last one ran away, he waved his gaudy bible at them and hollered, "Satan-Worshiper! Witch and her Demon! You'll both rot in Hell!"

"You all right?" Raph grunted at the pagan. At least he thought it was safe to assume she was pagan.

"Yes, I'm fine… You're bleeding!" She had a slightly rough voice, like it should've been gravelly if it wasn't so soft and soprano. She reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched away. He gaze hardened. "Thank you for saving me. If you don't want _my_ help, I'll just be going." He realized she thought he was disgusted by what she was.

"Listen, lady, I don' care if your Christian or pagan or what. I just… It's complicated, OK?" He really hoped she just let it go.

She sighed. She couldn't see his face, but his rough, low voice sounded genuine. "Your arm is soaked. The one with the knife got you good. Please let me help you! It's the least I could do. Besides, I already know that you're not like other people. Not many others have three fingers." She pointed to his hand that hung limply by his side, making him notice not only the mutation that the suit could not hide, but the fact that his arm really was bleeding like crazy, dripping down his arm and off his fingertips.

"Look, you ain't gonna like what ya see under the helmet…" he fell silent as she gently took his arm (the good one) and tugged him back to the little occult shop.

"We'll go in the back," she murmured. He followed quietly. Inside he was panicking. How would she react? He did need the help, but what if she just freaked out? He'd be in even more trouble.

The back room of the shop was cluttered with herbs, stones, beads, and other strange miscellaneous things. Raph especially eyed the gleaming daggers here and there. "Sit," she commanded, gently guiding him to an old easy chair. He did. She sat beside him in an old kitchen chair and waited, looking where she guessed his eyes were behind the visor. He gazed back, unmoving. Her eyes were a grayish hazel he noted.

She reached out hesitantly and lifted his helmet off and away. He let her, his inward panic reaching a crescendo. She stared. He waited. She tilted her head to the side. He did too, confused at the lack of screaming. She smiled gently. He smirked back hesitantly. "Let's see that arm," she said quietly.

He unzipped his suit half way and slipped his right shoulder and arm out, hissing as the pain finally caught up with him. She helped him, tiny, child-like hands nimble and gentle. She began to rush about, collecting bandages, a small basin of water, and a few herbs from various places around the room. She made to grab a dagger when he suddenly stood, wary. She slowly put it back down. "I'm not going to hurt you." They stared each other in the eye, both waiting. He finally sat down, from dizziness and blood loss more than anything.

With a rag, she used water smelling of herbs to clean the wound. It stung a little. She used the dagger to cut the desired length of bandage. She wrapped his arm carefully, sometimes sprinkling tiny amounts of powdered herbs in the bandages. She would chant quietly, and Raph swore he saw the air shimmering around his arm when she did this. She was very gentle the whole time.

"Thanks." His voice rumbled deep in his chest. She smiled.

"You're very welcome."

She held his sleeve out so he could slip his arm back in it easier, and gave him back his helmet. He toyed with the headgear, and looked her in the eye suddenly before putting it back on. "You know you can't tell anyone about me." It was a statement, an order, not a question.

"No one would believe me anyway. Besides, I've met the infamous Nightwatcher! That's enough of a consolation prize." Her last statement was delivered with a teasing grin. He chuckled as well and lightly punched her shoulder. She snorted and punched him back.

He was surprised that she punched him, but was pleased that they seemed to get along well. "I got a name other than Nightwatcher."

"Oh?" her smile widened, and he found he rather liked her smile.

"Raphael."

"Marry Meet, Raphael. I'm Delilah."

"What's that mean?"

"What? Marry Meet?"

"Yeah."

"It's just a greeting most pagans use. Means that I hope you're happy at the moment of our meeting, and that I'm happy to see you." She seemed delighted that he was interested, and not instantly turned off by her ways.

"Is there a goodbye like that?" He really needed to go, but he was curious. Maybe he would see her again, but tonight he had to get home before Don blew a gasket and went on strike from fixing anything for a month.

Her smile turned sad. She would probably never see him again. "Marry Part, in hopes that you are happy after we go our separate ways."

"Well, then," he held his hand out for her to shake. Her grip was firm and sure as she shook hands with him. "Marry Part, Delilah."

"Goddess Bless, Raphael." Her soft voice followed him out the door and he shivered. How appropriate, he thought, for her to call on her deity to bless the mutant vigilante. He was going to need it.


End file.
